“Thank you for seeing me,” Harriett mumbled on her way out the door. She had achieved nothing. Her visit to Pastor Lovelace had failed. Ruth Darling would continue her flirtation with Lyle Fawcett and all the church would look on with horror as another family was destroyed.
Trapped in her musings, Harriett walked outside the church without watching her step. When she stepped on a thin patch of ice in the church parking lot, her feet went out from under her. Arms flailing, she let out a bloodcurdling scream that was loud enough to hail the Second Coming.
From her peripheral vision, she saw Joanne Lawton’s face wide with shock and horror from the office window overlooking the parking lot.
The next thing she knew the pavement was rushing up to greet her. She closed her eyes and prayed for mercy.
She must have blacked out because when she opened her eyes, she saw two men leaning over her. Both wore the familiar uniform of paramedics. Carefully they placed her on a mat and wheeled her toward the aid car. It was difficult to focus on which part of her body hurt the worst. Her head felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Her arm had to be broken, for the pain there was dreadful.
In her agony, she groaned.
“Try not to speak,” one of the men said to her. “It looks to me like your jaw’s broken.”
Chapter 25
Love looks through a telescope, not a microscope.
—Mrs. Miracle
“Good morning,” Emily Merkle greeted as a bleary-eyed Sharon walked into the kitchen.
Sharon smiled back wanly. She hadn’t slept well, and from the way Jerry had tossed and turned the night away, she knew he hadn’t either. When she’d slipped out of bed she’d suspected he was awake, but he hadn’t spoken, so neither had she.
After their frank discussion about their two divorced friends, they hadn’t said much of anything to each other. But, really, what was there to say? Their conversation had been comment enough.
They’d get along better once they were divorced, Sharon suspected. Just making the decision seemed to have slackened the tension. They’d spent time with the children, attended a movie, and had spoken barely a cross word to one another in days, which she had to admit was something of a record of late. It was a sad comment on their life together.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Emily asked, and without waiting for a reply promptly poured her one. She carried it to the table and set it down for her. “The children are with their father this morning,” she said companionably. “I believe they went Christmas shopping. Leave it to a man to put it off until the last minute.” She chuckled to herself and returned to the task at hand. The large electric mixer hummed softly in the background, and the intoxicating scent of curry filled the kitchen.
“What are you making?” Emily was a fabulous cook, good enough to open her own restaurant if she wanted.
“It’s a fruit dip,” the housekeeper answered absently, reading over the recipe. “Delicious with winter fruit. Pear, apples, and the like.” She knocked the lid on a jar of mango chutney against the edge of the counter to loosen it, then twisted it open with all her might. “Here, read over the recipe. You’ll see what I mean.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Sharon said when she’d finished reading.
“If you think it sounds good, just wait until you taste it.” Holding the mixing bowl in place under her arm, Emily scooped the fruit dip into a plastic container, then sealed it with the lid and placed it in the refrigerator. “Letting it set overnight is best, but if you can only chill it a couple of hours, that’s fine, too.”
“I’d need to eliminate the walnuts,” Sharon said, glancing over the recipe again. “Jerry doesn’t like them.” She stopped, realizing she’d spoken automatically, without remembering that she no longer needed to concern herself with Jerry’s likes and dislikes. From this Christmas forward she had only herself to please.
The knowledge should have delighted her; a few days ago it would have. Instead it depressed her. In her heart of hearts she recognized that the recipe would be tucked away, forgotten in the pages of a cookbook, like a good intention. It would be too much of a hassle to go to all that trouble just for one person. It wasn’t worth the effort.
“Something smells good,” Jerry said as he walked into the kitchen. “I love the scents of Christmas.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself, then opened the refrigerator for the milk and spied the large turkey thawing inside.
“Christmas evokes memories for me,” Mrs. Merkle said conversationally. “They must for you, too, after all these years together.”